


Guess Who's Coming To Dinner?

by MorphoFan



Category: The Venture Bros
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Peril
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-12-01 12:46:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11486685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorphoFan/pseuds/MorphoFan
Summary: The Monarch and Twenty-One take Sheila out for a relaxing dinner on her birthday, accompanied by Agents Watch and Ward. But naturally, a drug deal at the bistro goes sour and The Monarch is taken hostage by a murderous addict. Watch and Ward once more show their resourcefulness and devotion to The Guild.





	Guess Who's Coming To Dinner?

"Good morning, honey-bunny!" The Monarch said brightly as he entered the master bedroom.

In his hands he carried a tray loaded with a chocolate-chip muffin, a cup of coffee, a glass of cranberry juice and a vase containing a single rose. 

"Happy Birthday, Mrs. Monarch," Twenty-One added, entering right behind his boss, carrying a vase of roses and balloon bouquet.

The men moved to Sheila's bedside and the dark-haired beauty in the bed sat up sleepily to smile at them.

"Oh my gosh," she said in her deep, incongruous voice, shaking her head as The Monarch laid the tray across her lap, and Twenty-One set the vase on the bedside table and handed her the balloons.

"How sweet are YOU guys?" she added, picking up her cup of coffee with her free hand, and sipping it.

"Happy Birthday!" The Monarch exclaimed, holding his hands over his head and grinning at her like a kid.

He leaned down and gave her a quick kiss, then produced a lighter from his robe pocket and lit the single birthday candle that was stuck into the chocolate-chip muffin on her tray.

A very boisterous, well-intentioned, but badly off-key rendition of "Happy Birthday" followed next, complete with two-part harmony, and Mrs. Monarch had tears of laughter in her eyes by the end of it. 

"Come here, you big lug," she said, motioning to Twenty-One, tossing the little anchor for the balloon bouquet toward the foot of the bed and opening her arms. 

The stocky henchman came bashfully to her and gave her a hug, which she enthusiastically returned. Before he could pull back, she took his face in her hands and gave him a big kiss on the lips. 

He ducked his head a little, but he couldn't hide the happy flush that colored his cheeks.

"I'm gonna go clean the kitchen or paint the house or something," he said quickly, moving swiftly out the door, accompanied by fond laughter by his two employers.

The Monarch chuckled as he took a seat on the edge of the bed, and snagged a loose chocolate chip off his Queen's plate. They shared a long, lingering, chocolate-flavored kiss, and she reached up to caress his pointed face with her soft, porcelain-like hand.

"I love you," she said quietly.

"You too," The Monarch replied, removing her breakfast tray and setting it aside. 

"Thanks for the balloons and the roses," she said, "That was sweet of you."

"Oh, those were from Twenty-One," The Monarch said.

"Aww, that big smoothie," she said, admiring the vase on the nightstand.

"My gift is a little more... personal," The Monarch said slyly.

"Oh? I'm intrigued," she replied, smiling.

He reached into his robe and pulled out an envelope, handing it to her. He watched her open it, fighting down a grin. 

"Oh," she said, "Wow. Coupons for two free backrubs. How... personal."

She laid the items aside, chuckling to herself. But when she looked up, she saw the look on his face, and her eyes narrowed.

"You're messing with me, aren't you?" she said accusingly, grabbing his shoulders and pushing him down on the bed, moving to straddle him.

"What makes you think so?" he asked, looking up at her with mock innocence.

"Instinct?" she replied, leaning down to kiss him again, running her fingers through his thick, red hair, "This many years with you, I should think I can read you pretty well."

The Monarch just shrugged coyly.

"I'm sure I have NO idea what you're talking about," he said, fighting down a smile.

"Oh really?" she growled playfully, sitting up and slipping her hands inside his robe.

"I mean, if the coupons aren't enough, I could... EEEK HEEEYYY!"

The Monarch dissolved into laughter as his wife began tickling his ribs.

"NONONONO STAAHHHP!" he wailed, squirming, pushing at her quick, nimble little hands as they scurried over his skin.

"Where is it?" she demanded, giggling, spreading his robe open further to get at his belly.

"Where's WHAHAHAHAHA-WHAT?"

"I can do this all day, sweetness," she teased, next focusing her attack on his navel.

"AAACK, NOT THE BELLY BUTTON, NO FAHAHAHAHAHAIR!"

"You're keeping my birthday present from me," she cooed, fingering the ticklish little hollow as The Monarch squealed and writhed beneath her, "Fairness doesn't apply in this situation."

"Guys? We're getting noise complaints from people in Queens," Twenty-One's voice called from the stairs, "Everything OK up there?"

"Yes!" Sheila called, laughing, kneading her husband's sides.

"NO!" The Monarch wailed, "GET UP HERE AND SAVE MEEEHEEHEEHEEHEEEE!"

Twenty-One came halfway up the stairs and peered through the railing at them. 

"Dude," he said, shaking his head, "Whatever it is, just FOLD, already. You know better than to mess with her!"

He turned and disappeared back down the stairs.

"Some bodyguard YOU are!" The Monarch called after him, "You didn't evenGAAH! HAHAHAHAAA!"

His darling wife was after his belly button again, only this time with her tongue.

"Aahh! Pocket! MY ROBE POCKET! GAAHH!"

With a crow of triumph, she slipped her hand into his pocket and withdrew a trademark blue Tiffany and Co. box.

"Happy Birthday, Dr. Mrs. The Monarch," the super-villain gasped.

"Oh my gosh, you didn't," she said, gracefully dismounting his hips and sitting on the edge of the bed. She undid the silk ribbon and slipped the lid off the box, then took out the velvet case within. 

With trembling hands, she raised the lid on the case, and stared.

"You DID," she breathed, lifting her face to gaze at him in adoration as he sat up next to her.

He shrugged, still smiling.

On the white satin lining lay the beautiful set of aquamarine drop earrings and pendant that she had admired a couple of months previously on a trip into the city. They sparkled in the late-morning sunlight streaming through the windows, glittering in the exact same shade as her eyes.

The Monarch took the necklace from the box and draped it over her head, and she lifted her hair out of the way so he could fasten the clasp. As he moved to her dresser to collect a hand mirror, she took the earrings out of the box and put them on.

Her smiling husband returned to her bedside, and held the mirror so she could admire her new treasures.

"You look beautiful," he said, nodding, "It's like they were made for you."

"You," she said, pushing him backwards and climbing on top of him again, "Are SO getting lucky tonight."

The Monarch gave his trademark super-villain cackle, and his wife collapsed on top of him in joyful laughter.

* * *  
Later that evening, the trio got dressed. Sheila put on her new jewels, and stood at her vanity, doing her makeup, as the men got into their suits.

"So I hope it's OK, with you guys," she said, as she spritzed perfume on her pale throat, "But I invited Watch and Ward to join us for dinner tonight."

"Is Watch gonna drive?" The Monarch asked, raising a crazy-long eyebrow, busily tying Twenty-One's necktie for him.

"Of course," she replied, "They're bringing a Guild limo."

"I think it's a great idea," The Monarch said, nodding energetically, making Twenty-One laugh.

"You think ANYTHING that saves you taking the New Jersey PATH train is a great idea," the big man teased, making both the Monarchs laugh. 

He turned toward the mirror and adjusted his tie, then moved to slip into his dark plum suit jacket.

"Thanks," she said, "I really want to show them how much we appreciate all their help since the Sovereign... well you guys know what happened." 

She punctuated the statement with a dismissive wave of her hand.

"Hell yes," Twenty-One chimed in with an enthusiastic nod, "Me and Monarch would still be stranded out in space if it weren't for those two."

"Well *I* would be, at least," The Monarch added, slipping on his pine green jacket and smoothing it over his slim torso.

"And I'd probably still be living off your corpse."

"Cheery thought!" Gary said with a snort, "Now I'm REALLY looking forward to Italian tonight."

The Monarch laughed and gave him a fist-bump.

"If it weren't for those guys, I would have been blown to smithereens," Mrs. Monarch added, applying her mascara.

"How big IS a smithereen, anyway?" The Monarch said thoughtfully, "I mean, is there a size requirement? It's one of those words that you hear all the time, but never really think about."

"Normal people don't think about stuff like that, dude," Gary said, patting his boss on the shoulder.

"You hear about people getting blown to bits, and blown to smithereens," The Monarch continued, picking up his coffee and taking a sip, "But is one, like, BIGGER than the other?"

"No more coffee for you," Twenty-One said, taking the cup from him.

"I reserved a table for five at Leonato's," Mrs. Monarch said, "Ward swears by their spaghetti and meatballs."

"Awesome," The Monarch said.

"What time are the reservations?" Gary asked, picking up one of his wrist gauntlets and strapping it on.

"7:30," Sheila replied, turning to him.

"Oh, Gary... sweetie, we're dressing civilian for the evening," she said, indicating the stocky man's gauntlets.

"Well, WE are," she added, "I don't think Watch and Ward have any other clothes besides their Guild uniforms."

"And those cute sweaters you got them for Christmas," The Monarch reminded her.

"No insubordination intended, Mrs. Monarch," Gary said, "But I'm wearing my blades, just in case. Civilian or not, I'm still your bodyguard."

"Yeah, good point," Sheila said, with a nod, "And The Blue Morpho is still out there somewhere."

"Riiiight," The Monarch said shiftily, glancing askance at his henchman.

"I know you don't take The Blue Morpho seriously, baby," she said to her husband, coming to take his hands in hers.

"But the fact is, he's flat-out MURDERED a fair number of local super-villains."

"Well, there might be more to his story than meets the eye," Gary said running a nervous hand over his hair, "I mean, we can't just jump to conclusions, right?"

"I'm really NOT scared of The Blue Morpho, honey," The Monarch said, leaning down to kiss her, "And you shouldn't be, either. He's not interested in hurting either of us."

"How can you say that?" she replied, shaking her head, "He was in our bedroom, remember?"

"Oh. Yeah. I forgot."

Twenty-One just looked from The Monarch to Sheila, watching the conversation.

"What Monarch means," he broke in quickly, "Is that, if you two were on his hit list, he'd have taken you out by now." 

"OK, whatever, can we move on?" The Monarch grumbled. 

He punctuated his statement with a hard look at Twenty-One that read: DUDE. DROP IT.

"I just don't want you to get hurt, sweetness," Sheila said, leaning into her husband and wrapping her arms around his tall, lanky figure.

"I don't think I could go on if anything ever happened to you."

The Monarch wrapped his arms around her diminutive form, and glanced over at his bodyguard.

"Nothing's gonna happen to me, honey," he breathed.

"Promise?" she asked, pressing her face into his chest.

"I promise."

* * *

The party of five sat around the circular table at Leonato's, laughing and exchanging stories, as the waitress brought them their cocktails. It was mid-week, so the bistro was less than half-full. 

Agents Watch and Ward were on duty for The Guild of Calamitous Intent, so they refrained from ordering any alcohol. 

"Oooh, I can't decide what I want to eat," Sheila said, studying the menu, her new jewels sparkling in the candlelight, accenting her little black dress perfectly.

"Me neither," The Monarch added, wearing a suit of dark green, "Everything sounds amazing."

"What are you going to get?" Watch asked of Ward, seated beside him, both men in their customary Guild uniforms, as Mrs. Monarch had predicted.

"Spaghetti and meatballs," the younger man replied, closing his menu with a grin.

"What a surprise," Watch said, chuckling, "That's all you ever get."

"I like spaghetti and meatballs," Ward said defensively, "And red sauce doesn't show on my uniform."

Everyone laughed, and Watch reached over to tousle his younger partner's hair, or rather, the cowl that covered it.

"So what's happening in the nerve center of the Guild these days?" Twenty-One asked of Ward, as he looked over the menu, "They keeping you busy?"

"Oh yeah," the blond agent replied with a nod, "Membership has shot up ever since The Blue Morpho came back on the scene."

"Every antagonist in the city wants in, now," Watch added, "They all want the extra protection that membership offers. It's been nuts."

"I can imagine," the henchman said with a nod, "Dr. Mrs. The Monarch has been putting in a lot of hours lately."

"Security has been beefed up considerably, too," Ward said, turning in his chair toward Twenty-One and patting the holster on his hip.

"They just issued us these new guns, and you wouldn't believe the...,"

"Guyyyys," Dr. Mrs. The Monarch said with a smile and a wink, "Enough with the shop talk."

"Sorry, ma'am," Ward said, returning the smile.

"So what do you guys get up to when you're not on duty?" Monarch asked of the agents.

"Oh," Ward said. He blinked a few times, then turned to his partner.

"I sleep, personally," Watch said, with a chuckle, "It's about the only chance I get."

"I have a ferret!" Ward said, grinning, "Want to see pictures of her?"

"Sure," Mrs. Monarch chuckled, sliding her chair over closer to the blond agent as he pulled out his phone.

"Hey," Gary said, pushing his chair back and standing up, draping his suit jacket over the back of the chair, "Let's go check out the live lobster tank, dude."

He gave a tug on The Monarch's sleeve, and the red-haired man got to his feet.

"We'll be right back," he said, turning and following his bodyguard toward the back of the restaurant.

"OK, I know for a fact that you hate lobster," The Monarch muttered, "So I assume that there's a more surreptitious reason behind this?"

"Yeah, there is," Twenty-One said, as they came to stand before the lobster tank.

"Hi, guys," The Monarch said, leaning down to address the crustaceans as they meandered slowly through the cold, clear water, "You can relax, neither of us are going to eat you." 

"So, how certain would Mrs. Monarch be to kill me," Gary began, "If I had the waitstaff bring out a cake and sing Happy Birthday to her?"

"Probably pretty definite that she would kill you," The Monarch said, a grin spreading across his face, "But we're gonna do it anyway, that's an awesome idea."

"Cool!" the big henchman said with a smile, "You head back to the table and I'll go and talk to the kitchen staff. Oh and order me the Alfredo special, will you?"

"No problem," The Monarch replied, giving one last salute to the lobsters and heading back toward the table.

* * *

Karl Jensen was a hot mess.

He was also an addict, and he was jonesing for his fix. His former friend, Michael, worked as a dishwasher at this fancy Italian restaurant, and the prick owed him, big. 

Jensen had loaned the other man a wad of cash, and after weeks of broken promises to pay it back, he was done with patience.

Tonight Michael was going to pay him, if not with cash, than with blood.

He pulled his car into the alley behind the eatery, parked, and moved to the kitchen door, drawing a hunting knife out of his boot. He hovered just outside the door, watching through the window. When Michael was alone, he made his move.

* * *

Twenty-One knocked briefly on the swinging door of the kitchen, and then stepped through. 

"Hey, hello?" he called, "Anyone here?"

From behind the center island, a man in dirty jeans and a raggedy tank top stood up, and faced him.

The burly henchman just eyed him for a minute, hoping that he wasn't the one who prepared the food. The guy was filthy, and he recognized the signs of drug use in his dilated, wild eyes.

"Umm," he began, holding up a hand, "Is this a bad time?"

The other man stepped toward him and Gary moved away from him, further into the kitchen, keeping the island between them. And then he saw the body on the floor, in a pool of blood.

"Jesus!" he yelped in alarm.

The intruder pulled a bloodied hunting knife from behind his back and brandished it at the startled bodyguard.

"OK, THAT'S a bad idea," Gary said, unbuttoning his shirt cuffs and rolling the sleeves up a little, "Trust me, you do NOT want to engage me."

With a *SHINK* he popped out both his gauntlets, and held them up.

As he'd hoped, the druggie hesitated, and took a few steps back.

"I just want to leave," the agitated man said, looking from Gary to the back door.

"I'm sure," Twenty-One said, cursing himself when he realized his phone was in the pocket of his jacket, out at the table.

He considered making a dash for the dining area, but he was worried the freak would follow him, and there were innocent people out there. No, best to keep the man contained in the kitchen until he thought of a better solution.

"I don't feel well," the stranger said, holding his head.

"I'm sorry about that," the big man said, trying to sound sympathetic, "What's your name, dude?"

"Jensen."

"Hi Jensen," he said, "I'm Gary."

He retracted his right blade and stepped forward, intending to offer his hand to shake, but the man freaked out the second he stepped toward him.

"STAY AWAY FROM ME!" he shouted.

Jensen moved to stand near the kitchen door, still brandishing the knife, sizing up Twenty-One. The henchman kept his left gauntlet unsheathed, moving slowly toward the thug.

"I'll tell you right now, you may as well drop the knife," the long-haired man suggested, "Because if you don't, then the moment you turn your back on me I'm gonna be on you."

"Who says I'm gonna turn my back on you?" Jensen sneered.

"I'm just telling you, dude," Twenty-One said with a shrug.

Just then, the kitchen door swung inward, and The Monarch came striding through, his view of Jensen blocked by the door.

"What are you DOING back here?" He began, addressing Twenty-One.

"DUDE, NO, GET OUT!"

But before the henchman could act, Jensen sprung forward, and in the blink of an eye, had the hunting knife at The Monarch's throat and his arm coiled tightly around his slim waist.

"What the...!" The Monarch exclaimed in surprise. He froze as he felt the blade under his chin, and just stood there, hands raised slightly in front of him, trying to show zero resistance.

"Ahh," he murmured, "OK, then...."

Twenty-One met his best friend's eyes, and though The Monarch looked surprised, he was calm. The henchman gave the tiniest of nods, making a small, calming gesture with his hand, and the older man returned the nod, almost imperceptibly.

"Stay calm, boss," the stocky bodyguard said quietly, "It's gonna be OK."

"Lose those blades, Sasquatch," Jensen ordered, "Or watch me slit Red's throat."

"OK, OK," Gary said, calmly, retracting the spring-loaded blades and unstrapping the gauntlets from his forearms, tossing them onto the nearby counter.

"They're gone," he said, "Now let him go... you don't need him, anymore." 

Jensen just eyed him, shifting his weight slightly from one foot to the other, obviously thinking things over.

"I have no way to stop you," the henchman continued, pointing at the back door that led into the alley, "Just let him go, and walk on out of here." 

"I have, just EPIC timing," The Monarch grumbled, "Don't I, dude?" He smiled a little at Twenty-One, in spite of everything.

Twenty-One just shrugged.

"Shut up!" Jensen ordered, shaking his captive.

Just then, out of the corner of his eye, Gary saw Sheila's quizzical face at the window in the swinging door between the kitchen and the dining area. Jensen was focused on The Monarch, and didn't see her. 

The raven-haired woman made eye contact with Twenty-One, and the big man gave a brief shake of his head, then subtly angled his head toward Jensen.

She turned her head and saw her husband's peril, and shot a look of alarm back at Twenty-One before vanishing from the window.

"So, what is your plan, now, Jensen?" Twenty-One asked conversationally, casually moving closer to the thug and his hostage.

"I want to leave," the thug replied, "And I... STAY THE FUCK BACK, GODDAMMIT!"

"OK, relax, I'm sorry!" Twenty-One quickly put his hands up, taking a couple of steps backwards.

There was a tense silence, and then suddenly, the fire alarm blared out, and the sounds of a panic came from the dining area.

"What the fuck?" Jensen demanded, looking up, wincing at the noise, "What is that?"

The door to the alley opened, then, and Agent Watch entered, his angular face stony as he took in the situation, giving a small nod to Twenty-One.

"Ward and Mrs. Monarch are clearing the restaurant," the agent announced.

"Good idea," the henchman replied with a nod.

A moment later, the fire alarm ceased, and Ward and Mrs. Monarch entered through the swinging door.

"What the fuck IS this?" Jensen demanded.

He tightened his hold on The Monarch, moving first toward the back door, and then turning back toward the kitchen door, as if trying to decide which escape route gave him a better chance.

The Monarch obediently moved along with him, still holding his hands out unthreateningly, still keeping silent. The model hostage. All the time, he kept his eyes trustingly on Twenty-One, waiting for the heavyset man to make his move.

"Who the fuck are YOU?" Jensen demanded.

"Agents Watch and Ward of the Guild of Calamitous Intent, sir," Ward said, indicating his partner and then himself.

"And we must ask you to release The Monarch, please," Watch added.

"The guild of the what?" Jensen demanded, "Are you TRYING to get him killed?"

He wrenched the knife more tightly against his hostage's throat, and The Monarch made a small sound of pain, wincing as the blade broke his skin, his hands flinching briefly toward the source of the pain.

"Stop!" Sheila exclaimed, starting forward, only to be held back by Twenty-One.

"Please don't hurt him!" she begged Jensen as her bodyguard wrapped his arms around her.

"Stay back, ma'am," the big man breathed, "And try to keep calm."

"He's got a KNIFE to my husband's THROAT!" she exclaimed, tears filling her eyes, How can I be CALM?"

"Everything is under control, ma'am," Ward said, comfortingly.

"So what are your demands, sir?" Watch inquired of the addict.

"His name is Jensen," Twenty-One offered helpfully.

"Mr. Jensen," Watch said, with a grateful nod to Gary, "How do you wish to proceed?"

"I'm getting out of here with my hostage," Jensen snarled, "And I don't want any of you to try and stop me."

"Well, if you're going to try and leave the building," Ward said, "Then may I suggest you swap out your knife for my gun?"

He held up his gold-plated, Guild-issued handgun and extended it, handle-first, toward Jensen.

"A knife won't do you much good against the local law enforcement, correct?"

"WARD!" Mrs. Monarch and Twenty-One exclaimed together.

The agent paid them no mind.

Jensen was breathing hard through his nose, on the verge of panic. He looked around at the situation, from Watch and Ward, to Gary and Sheila, and then gave a curt nod.

"OK, put it on the floor and kick it over to me," he ordered.

"But of course," Ward said, smiling. He knelt, laid his weapon on the tile floor, and shoved it across the room with his boot.

The gun skidded to a rest near The Monarch's feet. 

Twenty-One looked at Ward in confusion, but the blonde man just smiled at him, and winked discretely. Across the room, Watch had a similar, knowing look on his face.

"Pick it up!" Jensen ordered.

He knelt with The Monarch, forcing the other man to kneel with him.

"And if you put your finger anywhere NEAR that trigger, I'll slit your fucking throat!"

"OK, keep your shirt on," The Monarch grumbled, slowly lowering himself to the floor and reaching for the barrel of the weapon. He snagged it with his long fingers, and slowly stood back up.

"Put it in my hand," Jensen ordered.

The addict kept the knife pressed against his hostage's throat, until the gun was within reach. Then, with surprising speed and dexterity, he tossed the knife away and snatched the gun from The Monarch's fingers.

Once he had the gun, Jensen tightened his arm at The Monarch's waist and pressed the muzzle of the firearm behind the super-villain's ear.

"How is this an improvement, Ward?" Mrs. Monarch hissed to the blonde agent.

"Trust me, ma'am," the agent said, reaching over to pat her arm reassuringly, "Everything is under control."

"OK, then," Watch said, spreading his hands and stepping away from the door to the alley, "You're free to go, Mr. Jensen. You have a gun, now, so you don't need your hostage."

"Yeah, well," the addict said, moving slowly toward the door, dragging The Monarch with him, "He's still coming with me... for protection."

"No!" Mrs. Monarch exclaimed, stepping forward, "Please!"

"Shh, it's OK," Ward breathed, pulling her gently back toward him.

"You know how to drive stick, doncha Red?" the thug asked of his prisoner, "My car is out back."

"No," The Monarch said flatly, "I don't drive, period."

"Goddammit," Jensen muttered. He glanced around, and motioned to Gary with his head.

"You, Sasquatch," he said, "Get over here... and don't mess with me, or I'll blow his head off."

The henchman came to stand before Jensen and The Monarch, his jaw clenching, eyes narrowed in rage.

"I can drive stick," the big man said, "Why don't you take me in his place?"

"Nice try," Jensen said with a derisive snort, "But I get the feeling you'd be way more trouble than Beanpole, here."

"Suit yourself," the long-haired man said with a shrug.

"Take off your belt," the addict ordered.

Twenty-One cocked an eyebrow in surprise, but did he was told. He unbuckled his belt and slipped it out of the loops, holding it up with one hand.

"Now tie his wrists." 

"Why?" the henchman asked.

"Because!" Jensen snarled, "If the useless fucker can't drive me, I'm gonna throw his ass in the trunk, and I want him restrained."

"Oh god," Sheila murmured, clinging to Ward as he wrapped an arm around her.

Twenty-One looked helplessly up at The Monarch as the older man obediently held out his hands.

"And make it tight, or I'll kill him right now."

Gary wrapped the belt around The Monarch's bony wrists a few times, pulling it snug, but not tightly enough to hurt. 

The Monarch's eyes never strayed from the bodyguard's face, quietly watching.

He fastened the belt, clasped The Monarch's bound wrists in his big hand for a moment and gave a reassuring squeeze, brushing his thumb over the back of the older man's hand.

"Everything's gonna be OK, buddy," the henchman murmured, his heart aching as he looked into his best friend's fearful eyes, "I promise."

The older man just nodded a little, wetting his lips and swallowing hard.

"OK, OK, step back," Jensen demanded, gesturing with the gun.

Twenty-One slowly backed away, raising his hands.

"Listen to me, Jensen," he growled, shaking his head, "If you hurt him... there's no place on Earth you can hide from me."

He slowly moved to Watch's side.

"I will FIND YOU," he snarled.

"Be quiet," Watch ordered, laying a hand on the henchman's shoulder, "You're not helping!"

Twenty-One, turned to him, fuming, but something about the confident, calm look in the agent's eyes stopped his profane retort in his throat.

"Trust me," the Guild agent said, patting him on the shoulder.

"We gotta DO something!" Gary hissed through his teeth.

"Just be ready," Watch breathed out of the side of his mouth, too quietly for the distracted Jensen to hear.

"If we let him drive off, The Monarch's as good as dead!" the henchman whispered fiercely.

The addict was nearly to the door, still clutching his hostage to him, still holding the gun to his head.

"You ever been to the New Jersey Pine Barrens, stretch?" Jensen said mockingly, digging the muzzle of the gun into the skin behind The Monarch's ear, making him wince in pain.

"Yes... as a matter of fact," he replied.

"Pretty convenient place for dumping bodies," the thug continued, "Wouldn't you agree?"

"Monarch," Sheila wept, reaching her hands helplessly toward him, "Baby...."

"I'll be fine, honey," her husband said, but the tremor in his bound hands made it clear that he was frightened.

Jensen laughed, sneering at the others as they stood by, helplessly.

"She is SMOKIN' hot, dude!" the evil man said, indicating Sheila with his chin, "Even WITH the voice."

The Monarch stayed silent.

"How'd a pale, skinny fucker like YOU manage to land THAT sweet piece of ass?"

"Intellect and charm," The Monarch said flatly, "You wouldn't understand."

"Well, don't worry," Jensen said, "Dudes'll be lining up to console her. Hell, she'll probably have a new guy next week."

"Fuck you," The Monarch growled through his teeth.

"Hey!" the thug snapped, shaking his hostage with the arm at his waist, "Did you forget I have a fucking GUN to your HEAD, idiot?"

It took every ounce of Twenty-One's self-control not to fly at Jensen. Every instinct in the bodyguard's body screamed that his leader was in danger, and that he had to act. 

"OK, we're out of here," Jensen warned, "And if any of you try to follow me, I'll shoot HIM first, and then YOU."

"Wait!" Sheila shouted, stepping forward, holding her hands up pleadingly.

"Yes?" the thug replied.

"Take me, instead," she begged.

"No!" shouted her friends in unison.

"Please," she repeated, "I'll be a much better hostage, I'm smaller and easier to handle."

Jensen hesitated, obviously thinking over her offer.

She moved closer to him, holding her hands out to him, tears trickling from her eyes.

"Please... I'll let you do anything you want to me... just let him go. Please!"

"No!" The Monarch shouted, struggling against his captor, "Sweetie, are you crazy?" 

"Would EVERYONE just calm the fuck DOWN please?" Ward shouted.

"Watch and I have this COMPLETELY under control!"

"OK, sweetheart," Jensen said with a leer, "You're on. Get over here."

"Oh FUCK this," Twenty-One said, losing his temper and storming toward the thug.

"Congratulations, chubs!" the addict exclaimed, turning the gun on the stocky henchman, "YOU get to die FIRST!"

"NO!" The Monarch cried, lunging for the gun with his bound hands.

"Oh, YOU wanna go first?" Jensen roared, "FINE!"

He planted a hand on The Monarch's back and shoved him forward, aimed the gun between the slender man's shoulder blades, and pulled the trigger.

The moment The Monarch was free, Twenty-One surged forward to enfold him in his big arms, turning to place himself between The Monarch and the gun, one hand holding the older man's head down against his shoulder.

He closed his eyes and braced himself for the bullet's impact, ready to give his life to protect Monarch.... But the anticipated shot never came.

It then became clear that Watch and Ward DID, by all means, have the situation completely under control.

As Jensen pulled the trigger on the Guild-issued weapon, the gun made a loud buzzing, whirring, clanking noise. In a matter of milliseconds, the metal had unfolded and then refolded to form a sort of mitt of golden armor, encasing the startled man's hand.

"GAH! SHIT! WHAT THE FUCK?" Jensen screeched as his hand was enveloped in metal. He shook the extremity furiously, trying to loosen it. The metal sheath began to hiss, a tiny bit of smoke seeping from the joints.

"WHAT THE FUCK?!" Jensen reiterated, clawing at the thing in desperation, "AUGH, IT'S BURNING ME!"

Watch and Ward moved casually toward him, as if they knew the man was not going to be a danger any longer.

"NAAAAAHHHH!" the criminal wailed, as the metal glove continued to heat up, driving him to his knees in pain.

Sheila ran to her husband, and The Monarch looped his bound wrists over her head, holding her to him as she trembled. Twenty-One wrapped his protective arms around both of them, still keeping a watchful eye on Jensen.

"Now... what did we learn, today?" Watch asked as he and Ward came to stand over the writhing thug.

"GET IT OFF!"

"So, are we done here?" Ward asked mockingly, leaning down, his hands on his knees.

"Yes... I'm sorry," Jensen whimpered, "Please, take it off.... PLEASE...!"

"Get on the floor, face-down," Watch ordered, sternly, "NOW."

The criminal obeyed, weeping in pain.

Ward took the man's forearm in his grip, and touched a small button on the golden metal mitt. 

With another series of whirs and clicks, the armor retracted, reforming itself into the shape of a handgun once more. The blond agent calmly re-holstered the weapon, and he and Watch hauled the thug to his feet.

"Are you all right, Mr. Monarch?" Watch called, as they handcuffed the still-sobbing Jensen.

"I think so," the tall man said, shaking slightly as Twenty-One gently undid the belt around his wrists, "Thanks, guys."

As soon as he was free, The Monarch wrapped his arms around his henchman and his wife, holding them close to him.

"Dude," he breathed softly, closing his eyes as he pressed his brow to Gary's, "You were ready to take a bullet for me…."

"That's right," the stocky man said quietly, one hand comfortingly rubbing the back of The Monarch's neck, "Are you OK?"

"Yeah... yeah, I'm good," the super-villain replied. He leaned down to press a kiss to the top of Sheila's head, stroking her back.

"Oh god, baby," she wept, gripping her husband's upper arms, pressing her cheek to his chest.

"It's OK, honey," the red-haired man whispered, nuzzling her black hair, "It's all over, now."

"Thought I was gonna lose you," she breathed.

"Never."

Twenty-One wrapped his arms about the couple and held them, glaring across the room as Watch and Ward dragged the still-whimpering Jensen out into the alley. 

When everyone had calmed down, he pulled back from the three-way embrace and looked sternly at The Monarch.

"Look, boss," Twenty-One said, "Not that I don't appreciate you going for Jensen's gun back there...,"

He pointed a scolding finger at the older man's amused face.

"But I'M the bodyguard," he continued, "Right?"

"OK," The Monarch relented, with a sheepish little shrug.

"That means that *I* protect YOU," Gary went on, "Not vice versa. You don't EVER endanger yourself for me, dude. Understood?"

"All right, mom." 

In spite of everything, Twenty-One laughed, and reached up to tousle the older man's rusty hair.

"Well I don't know about you two," Mrs. Monarch said, after a few minutes in the arms of her two favorite men, "But I have COMPLETELY lost my appetite."

"Let's get the hell out of here," Twenty-One added.

"Fine with me," The Monarch agreed, "I am OVER this evening."

They stepped out the back door of the restaurant, and found a second Guild limo there with another pair of Strangers, bundling Jensen into the back seat of the vehicle. Watch seemed to be debriefing them on what had gone on inside the restaurant.

One of the new Guild agents came toward Gary and The Monarchs with a tablet, scribbling notes on it with a stylus.

"I'm sorry to bother you, Dr. Mrs. The Monarch," the tall agent said, "But did you care to make a statement about what went on here?"

"I don't think so," she said, shaking her head, wrapping her hands around The Monarch's arm and leaning into him, "The guy was just a thug, not registered with the Guild or anything, right?"

"Correct," the Stranger said with a nod, "Twenty-One just interrupted him in the middle of a drug deal."

"I figured as much," Gary said with a nod.

"How about you, Mr. Monarch," the Guild agent continued, turning to the super-villain, "Did you want to add anything to the report?"

"Just a huge commendation to Watch and Ward," the tall man said, with a smile, "For saving my ass, AGAIN."

"Very good, sir," the Stranger said, with a nod. He clicked his heels together once, bowed, and returned to the limo.

"How are you guys doing?" Ward asked, coming to join the trio, "Everybody good?"

"Thanks to you," The Monarch said, warmly patting the agent on the shoulder.

"Yeah, thanks man," Twenty-One added, strapping his wrist gauntlets back on, "That was pretty friggin' amazing."

"What WAS that thing?" Mrs. Monarch asked, "Was that even a real gun?"

Ward chuckled, and looked up as Watch came to join them. He pulled out the golden gun and held it up.

"Brand new addition to the Guild Agent's arsenal," he said proudly, turning the weapon to indicate a small button on the stock.

"You imprint these new guns with a sample of your DNA at the time of issue," Watch explained, pointing.

"And once the gun is locked to YOUR genetic code, anyone else's attempt to use the weapon will trigger its security system," Ward added, grinning widely.

"The armor thing?" Twenty-One asked, nodding, "That was the security system?"

"Yep!" the two agents replied in unison.

"That's amazing," Mrs. Monarch said, shaking her head slightly.

"Ingenious," The Monarch added.

"Oh man," Twenty-One said quietly, "You guys really DID have it all under control, right from the start. I'm sorry."

"Don't sweat it," Ward said, still grinning, "I've been dying to see these things in action ever since they were issued."

"Now, can we give you three a lift home?" Watch said kindly.

* * *

Half an hour later, the Guild limo pulled up in front of the Monarch's mansion, and everyone piled out.

"You two go on in," Sheila said, "I'm gonna say goodnight to Watch and Ward."

The Monarch gave her a knowing grin and a wink, and then followed Twenty-One up the stairs to the house.

"You boys saved my husband's life tonight," Sheila said, "It's starting to become a regular thing."

The two agents just shrugged, shuffling a little, smiling at her.

"I'd like to show my gratitude...," she added.

She stepped up to Ward and took hold of his collar, gently tugged him down, and kissed him.

The young agent made a surprised sound as her lips captured his, and stiffened as her arms slipped around his neck. But the uncertainty only lasted for a moment, and then he was kissing her back, winding his arms around her waist, holding her to him.

Her sweet lips swept over his, her delicate tongue explored the sensitive interior of his mouth. The smell of her perfume was intoxicating without overpowering him, and he breathed deeply through his nose, inhaling her scent, her essence, as she made love to his mouth with her own.

After a long minute, she broke the kiss and pulled back to gaze up at him. She giggled a little at his dazed, nearly cross-eyed expression.

"You're the most beautiful lady I've ever seen, Mrs. Monarch," he blurted out, and his face instantly turned as red as the straps on his coat.

"Thank you, Ward," she breathed softly, playing with the few little tufts of blond hair that poked out from under his hood, "And thank you for saving my husband's life."

"My pleasure, ma'am." 

Next she turned to Watch, and gave him a similar treatment, embracing the older man, exploring his mouth with her tongue, running her fingers along his sharp jawline as he breathed hard through his nose. His strong hands slid up and down her back, smoothing over her little black dress.

She flicked her tongue over his teeth, and nuzzled his sharp nose with hers. Her fingers slid under the edge of his cowl to softly caress his temple. He responded by nuzzling her neck, delicately nibbling her earlobe with its aquamarine adornment, making her shiver.

After a moment, she ended the kiss and drew back, and again was amused by the goofy, exhilarated expression on his pale face.

"Thank you, Watch," she murmured, reaching up to run her fingertip down the bridge of his pointed nose.

"Thank YOU, ma'am," he replied numbly, making her smile more widely.

"Well," she said, "I'd best get inside, before The Monarch gets too jealous."

"Good night Mrs. Monarch," Ward said.

"Good night ma'am," added Watch.

"Happy Birthday!" they said in unison.

They waited until she was safely inside the house, and then the two agents climbed back into the limo, and Watch started the engine.

"I freaking love our job," Ward said dreamily, rubbing his lips where they still tingled.

"Three cheers for swinging super-villains," Watch added, shaking his head a little, "Whoo."

 

THE END  
********************


End file.
